


Who Could Ever Love a Beast?

by winglesswarrior



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Beauty and the Beast AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winglesswarrior/pseuds/winglesswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is the creepy, possible mass murderer living in a burned up house in the woods, hating everything around him. Stiles is a misunderstood geek who's starting to figure out that maybe Derek isn't such a bad guy. </p><p>That or it's the quickest case of Stockholm Syndrome ever recorded. </p><p> </p><p>Teen Wolf with a Beauty and the Beast type spin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-beta'd. 
> 
> Little bit a of a twist on the TW world and the B&B legend / story.

“You could leave every now and then,” Isaac suggested, voice tentative from the shadows though all Derek did in response was grunt. 

“Or you could just grunt as if that’s an actual form of communication. That works too.” Isaac rolled his eyes and moved back towards Erica and Boyd. “He’s not leaving. Why do we keep asking?” 

“Because he needs to. This isn’t helping anyone.” Erica moved closer to the wall where he was. At one point it had been a window, but now it was more of a burned out side of the house and Derek sat there, fully changed as the full moon shone on him. They were all in better control, but instinct took over from time to time and yet Derek didn’t want to run, not even tonight when the moon was at its peak.

“Just go without me,” came the growl from their alpha and Erica could only let out a frustrated noise as Isaac and Boyd pulled her away. Derek wanted to be left alone, to sulk in what he was, who he was, and they couldn’t do anything about it. 

Once his cubs were gone he relished this silence, settling into it with ease, wearing it like a cloak. The pack was supposed to help this feeling of emptiness, this loneliness. It was why he’d targeted such lost souls and yet, yet he found himself feeling just as alone as before. He wouldn’t give them enough to connect himself to them and they had wound up more bound to one another than him. They would miss him tonight; he could already hear their howls bouncing in the dark, but they didn’t need him. Even as Alpha he was alone, left to sit in the rotted memory of something that had been grand, something his own, clouded judgment had brought to ruin. 

\-------------------------------------------------

“Did everyone actually have to do this? Because I don’t see Danny actually doing this.” Stiles said glancing into the dark woods and making a face. 

“Even Danny did it,” Jackson said actually nudging Stiles with the lacrosse stick, which made him feel even more like he was walking a plank. Stiles could tell he was lying. Jackson was a shit liar, but he guessed that it didn’t matter if it was a lie or not. If Danny had actually come out here, when Danny made first line the burned up Hale house was just ‘haunted’. Now creepy Derek Hale was supposedly living there or at least lurking there and that didn’t make things any better. Just Stiles’ luck he’d ‘maybe’ make first line after the house was inhabited by something more than figment of his imagination. 

Jackson poked him with the handled end of the stick again, though this time it was more of a jab. “Seriously Jackson, if you fucking poke me with that again I’m going to start to take it as a sexual innuendo.”

Danny hid a laugh behind a bit lip and his hand and Jackson just glared and jabbed Stiles harder. “We shouldn’t see you until morning wuss.” Scott didn’t have to do this. Fuck Scott wasn’t even here and Stiles suffered one more jab at his spleen before he reached for the stick yanking it away with a dirty look. 

“That’s right bitch. I’m taking this with me.” Because he hadn’t thought to actually bring a weapon and now he sorely wanted one. Where was that damn baseball bat when he needed it? Maybe he should take up a sport he had no real intentions of playing just to have his own set of weaponry around the house. Or maybe he should just take up zombie preparedness as a hobby. Scowling at his teammates once more he started off into the woods, righting his backpack and heading down a familiar path. 

Everyone knew where the Hale house was. It burned down when they were still kids, and his dad, just a cop then, had been at the scene. Stiles had begged for stories, but there was a pretty strict rule about not ruining his sleep until he was at least twelve, which meant only the smallest stories about the Hale house. 

Stories were never enough and only a week later he’d drug Scott, wheezing and complaining the entire way, out here, just to see it. As it loomed in the distance it didn’t look that different from his memories. More run down, but years of abandonment plus a fire did that. There weren’t any lights in it though, which figured. Maybe Derek was gone for the night. “Or maybe the burned out building doesn’t have any electricity moron,” he grumbled to himself. 

He trudged closer, mentally psyching himself up for this. What was there to be afraid of anyway? He’d seen Derek Hale. He was mildly terrifying sure, but he was also just a guy. Or he seemed to be just a guy. In a leather jacket and a glare that could freeze blood. Who’d been accused of murdering his sister and possibly his entire family in a fire. 

“Please don’t be home.” 

Taking a slightly shaking breath, Stiles climbed the stairs of the front porch, sure they were going to break under him before he made it to the door because up close? Yeah it looked rotted out in addition to being burned. 

One hand was on the door for a moment before he pushed it open. “First line is riding on this. Respect, adoration, a date to prom,” he told himself out loud before taking a deep breath and walking into the house itself, lacrosse stick held high and at the ready.

“Hello?” he called, looking around as he tentatively stepped through the foyer, looking up the steps towards the second floor, but he wound up moving left instead. The stairs didn’t look safe anyway. Nothing answered in response, no ghost, no creepy guy in a leather jacket, nothing.

“Hello?” The second time it was sing-songy, because when nothing jumped out right away he was starting to think he was alone. If he was alone he was just talking to himself so why not have fun with it? And he’d been scared. There was nothing to be scared of. It was an empty, dusty, rotting house. This was stupid. He was going to have to spend the night coming up with a great story to really scare the crap out of Jackson and Danny. That way they’d think he was super tough and have nothing to do but let him on first line without complaint. “Bet none of them even lasted the night,” he said dropping his bag on a dusty couch and going to explore the rest of the room. 

Derek was deep in his own thoughts, but the voice, one he only barely recognized, kept penetrating even his darkest of thoughts. He scowled and tried to ignore it, losing it again until he heard the door to his house open and someone called out. Tilting his head slightly Derek left his brooding behind, focusing on the noises that now seemed to be _inside_ his house. It was a single set of footsteps, which likely ruled out his pack and meant intruder. Moving away from the moonlight he shifted back to man easily, softly treading towards the footsteps. 

When Stiles called out again Derek scowled. That was the same voice, which apparently had snuck up on him. A growl rose in him, but Derek held it off, starting down the stairs and towards the living room the boy was in, standing in the doorway watching him move around the room. 

Stiles still had the lacrosse stick in his hands, rolling it between them as he walked around the room, peering at half burned books on a bookshelf, kicking at the remains of floorboards and furniture. Nothing but a burned up house. There probably weren’t even ghosts there. Stiles was actually starting to feel let down, like it would have been way more interesting to be in the plot of a scary movie than to be left here, in the cold, alone, in some house that didn’t seem structurally sound. Letting the stick rest against his shoulder he shook his head, turning back the direction he’d come so he could explore another part of the house. “This was a waste of…” The sentence was cut off by his own, and very unmanly, yelp of fear and surprise at the sight of Derek Hale staring at him from the only exit out of the room. 

He tried to raise the stick to his defense, but despite wanting to make first line, Stiles tended to flail. Which was exactly what he did now, arms waving about until the stick was where it should be, just in time for him to trip on something and wind up on his ass. 

Derek crossed the room faster than anyone should have been able to, grabbing the stick and jerking it away before one fist curled in Stiles’ shirt yanked the younger man to his feet. “What are you doing here?” Derek demanded, eyes shifting to red for an instant. 

“I…” Stiles started, but the hold that Derek had on his shirt made it hard to talk. When Derek’s eyes shifted color Stiles’ went wide, fear coursing through him. “It was a dare,” he sputtered, doubting everything when Derek’s eyes went back to the piercing blue color they were before. 

The smell of fear overpowered everything else around them and while normally Derek relished it he found himself regretting it. He hadn’t noticed it before, but once it was gone he almost missed the boy’s scent, something similar to the woods but with an almost cinnamon tinge to it. “Get out,” he demanded, throwing Stiles towards the doorway, not caring that he didn’t land on his feet and wound up in a heap on the floor. “Now.” Derek grabbed the bag off the couch and threw that at Stiles as well, hitting him just as he was getting to his feet. 

Stiles almost lost his balance again when the bag hit him, wincing but grabbing it. “I can’t…” he said, stumbling back, but not retreating. Why wasn’t he retreating? He should be running, but instead he was just staring at Derek, Derek Hale, murder suspect. “I can’t.” 

“Why the hell not?” Derek growled, something not quite human to his voice. He took two steps closer to the boy and while he expected him to step back, he didn’t. The most Stiles did was raise his backpack in front of him more, like it might protect him. 

“The dare…I…the night...” Stiles expected his voice shake more, but besides not being able to finish a sentence it was steady. 

The smell of fear was dissipating and Derek could smell the boy again, like pine needles and cinnamon and while it eased his rage, Derek wasn’t any friendlier beneath it. “You want to stay the night…” he said, disbelief in his tone, one eyebrow raised in mocking. 

Stiles’ eyes darted around the room and he shrugged. “Yes.” 

Derek nodded slowly. “Fine.” 

Just as Stiles started to relax, smirking almost, Derek was moving again, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and dragging him through the house to a doorway under the stairs. Just as before he tossed Stiles into the dark, not caring when he heard him thumping down the stairs into the fire gutted basement. “You can stay there.” He heard protests, but ignored them, slamming the door shut and drawing the bolt across it to lock it.

Stiles tumbled down the stairs, thinking when he bounced to the bottom that he was lucky he wasn’t hurt worse than a few scrapes and bruises. “Hey!” he called, but nothing answered. Of course nothing answered. Now he was locked in the damn basement of a mass murderer and sure he wasn’t going to survive the night. Jackson had better feel fucking sorry for getting him killed. Tugging at his shirt to right it, his fingers slipped into holes in the fabric that hadn’t been there moments before. Looking down they almost looked like claw marks.

\----------------------------------------------------

“He locked him up down here?” Isaac asked, only following Erica a few steps down, which wasn’t much but it was better than Boyd. Boyd just stood at the top of the stairs, mumbling something about keeping watch. 

“That’s what he grumbled before he passed out,” Erica said stepping down into the basement that smell of ash and something else. “Hello?” 

Stiles jerked awake at the voice, flailing arms out to try and defend himself, but the girl wasn’t any where near him. “What? Go away!” 

Erica spotted the flail and shook her head, sitting back on her heels as she watched him, keeping a fair distance away. “He’s just a bird of a thing,” she called up the stairs, and heard Isaac let out a sigh of relief. 

“What…who are you?” Stiles demanded, but it didn’t quite come out as more than a sputtering as he tried to get to his feet. 

Erica studied him, not getting up when he did, just tilting her head slightly. “Why didn’t he throw you out?” she questioned, not answering his question. “Normally he just throws them out, but for some reason he kept you.” 

Stiles was on his feet, eyes going wider as Isaac came around the corner of the stairs. Afraid wasn’t right, he wasn’t afraid; he was just really confused. And holding his bag in front of him just in case. Better safe that sorry right? “I had to stay. The night. What time is it?” Turning around he spotted the bit of sunlight coming through the grate of a window near the ceiling. In the morning light the place looked more like a dungeon than he’d originally thought and now he was really worried about what he’d signed up for. Jackson and his first line could fucking suck it. Or something that wouldn’t sound so much like something Jackson would like. 

“And he let you?” Erica said looking back at Isaac who shrugged. “He told us to let you go.” Which was also bizarre. She tilted her head again, trying to determine what was so different about this boy who smelled like Christmas. 

“So I can just…you know go? I’d like to,” he said nodding towards the currently blocked stairs. “Technically I have practice to get to…” Not that he was really that excited about showing up to practice with his cheeks smeared in ash, but it wasn’t the burned out basement with Derek Hale’s creepy lackeys (where did he get lackeys from?) staring at him. 

Erica glanced at Isaac who gave her yet another shrug that she rolled her eyes to. “Fine sure, go,” she said moving out of the way and watching Stiles keep his eyes on both of them before jogging up the stairs. Boyd was terrifying enough at the top and Stiles let out a small yelp then doubled back, tripping over his own feet and trying his best not to outright flee from the house. 

“Should we have let him leave?” Boyd asked as Isaac and Erica joined him at the top of the stairs, shaking off the ash and lingering scent of death. 

“What else were we going to do with him?” Isaac asked as he shook his head, blond curls going everywhere. “Keep him?” 

Boyd shrugged and looked back at the other two. “He seemed to want to. He needs someone. We’re obviously not cutting it.” It stung to say but it was the truth. “Someone has to break him out of this.” 

Erica looked at Isaac who frowned, rubbing at his jaw. “Maybe.” But Erica shook her head with force. 

“We couldn’t just kidnap him. That wouldn’t get us anywhere. Plus if Derek was going to turn him, he would have bit him last night right?” 

“So we wait for him to come back? Derek threw him in the basement.” Boyd doubted the boy was coming back any time soon. The trio looked at one another until Isaac shrugged. 

“Oops?” 

Boyd rolled his eyes, reaching out to give him a playful shove before walking away. Oops indeed. 

\---------------------------------------------

It wasn’t odd for Stiles to be completely ignoring the class he was supposed to be listening to. He’d finished most of the coursework ahead of time in some sort of fit of boredom and the explanation that the teacher was going through wasn’t only boring, it was inaccurate. 

So while Scott scribbled notes that Stiles would have to correct later, Stiles amused himself with studying the police file he’d borrowed then copied while dropping off dinner for his father. Sure, maybe it wasn’t quite public record yet, given that the Hale fire was still an open case it, but it wasn’t like his dad was just going to give him the file. Not with the way he still seemed to obsess over it. 

And hell, maybe Stiles would see something he missed, something that would break it. Something that would prove that Derek wasn’t as awful as the whole ‘mass murder’ mantle made him seem. 

Of course, there was no good reason for Stiles to want Derek to be less evil, less terrifying. The guy had locked him in a dungeon, ripped up his shirt in some way Stiles couldn’t explain and manhandled him around a room like it wasn’t a big deal. Honestly Stiles should probably be terrified of the guy, but there was something about, something that didn’t seem so…evil. Maybe just sad. 

That or Stiles was delusional and easily the first person to succumb to Stockholm Syndrome in less than twenty-four hours. 

“Maybe you just need to get laid.” 

Stiles jumped out of his skin, realizing that he’d been tapping his pen so furiously against his desk he’d disrupted the entire class. They were waiting on an answer, but that was Jackson, leaning close enough to talk in his ear, that was providing the answer. “Sorry,” was the best he could offer the room. “Fuck off,” he grumbled to Jackson who just chuckled in that way that only Jackson could make a chuckle seem like a giant insult and a come on at the same time. 

“You wish.” 

Shaking his head, Stiles rolled his shoulders against the weird feeling Jackson always left between his shoulder blades. Creepy asshole. Who apparently, didn’t think getting locked in a dungeon was reason enough to be accepted as first line. Of course Stiles hadn’t really elaborated on the dungeon part, nor the part where Derek was home and had lackeys. For some reason he’d kept that to himself. There wasn’t a point to sharing that he’d figured out where the man his father had a warrant out for was hiding. Well other than helping his father make that arrest, but for some reason Stiles felt like he couldn’t. 

Closing the case file he glanced towards the window, thinking that might prove a better distraction, one less to get him noticed. Only when he looked out he spotted a familiar form, standing the parking lot, watching him. “Shit!” The outburst was completely uncool, especially when paired with him flailing completely out of his chair and pointing at the window. 

“Mr. Stilinski!” 

Stiles spun around to see his teacher glaring at him, still too shocked to properly process what he was seeing. “I…there was…” Stiles turned back waving to the window, but Derek was gone. Just vanished. “Nothing.” 

“Obviously. Perhaps you’d like to come solve this problem since you’re so far ahead of the class that you obviously aren’t paying attention to it.” Stiles looked to see that same expectant look from his teacher and in a moment of rare and blatant defiance he shook his head. 

“Um no…” He haphazardly grabbed his things, tripping over himself some then starting towards he door. “No.” Just before leaving though he went back to the board, wiping away an error in the equation with his sleeve then correcting it before rapping his hand on the board then dashing for the door.

By the time he’d made it into the parking lot, shoving his books in his bag as he went, Derek was gone. Derek had been gone long before Stiles even left the building, but a quick trot around the area confirmed that yes, he was gone. Something itched at the back of Stiles’ mind, a thought he didn’t want to have, but it was there nonetheless, that Derek had never been there in the first place. 

Not wanting to think on it Stiles kicked at nothing with a frustrated grunt and went back to his Jeep. The whole day was a wash at this point; he might as well just go home. 

\---------------------------------------------

“Where have you been?” Isaac asked, glancing up as Derek walked through the front door of the house. He hadn’t even realized the Alpha was gone and here he was wandering back into the house when it was still light outside. He never left during the day. 

Derek scowled when Isaac spoke, ignoring the question as he moved past the younger man and towards his rooms upstairs. Isaac looked around then nodded to himself, taking the stairs two at a time to follow Derek. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said once Derek was in his room. 

“I realize that,” Derek grumbled, rooting around in a cabinet until he found a bottle of whiskey he kept stashed there, moving towards the wing back chair he’d brought near the burned up side of the room. 

Isaac loitered in the doorway, weighing his options and just how annoyed Derek was so far, which didn’t seem to be too much. After a moment he drifted into the room so he could see Derek. “Why didn’t you?” 

“Why do I have to tell you everything I do with every moment of my life?” Derek snapped, turning around to glare at Isaac, eyes flashing red for a moment. 

Cowering, Isaac fell back, dropping to sit on his heels, a lower position than he’d taken before, but he stayed where he was. “I was just worried,” he said, tilting his head to the side, voice softer. “You’ve been acting different.” It was hard to tell, but after a few days the three of them had noticed, something was off with Derek. He seemed more distant than before, lost in his own mind more than before. 

Shaking his head Derek waved Isaac off. “It’s nothing. Just curious about him.” The boy, Stiles, who’d been brave enough to stand up to him. Even his wolves weren’t that good if Isaac’s current posture was any sort of evidence. 

“The…really?” Isaac asked, eyes going a little wider. “What kind of curious?” Hopefully the right kind of curious and Isaac wished Erica was here, that she could hear what Derek might say and tell him something more, pick out what Isaac might miss. 

“Yes really. It’s nothing,” he waved a hand Isaac, trying to get him to drop the subject and go away without yelling or snapping. He took a pull off the bottle in his hand and sunk lower into the chair. He waited a moment, waiting for Isaac to go and when he didn’t Derek turned. “Leave.” 

Isaac wasn’t too stupid, he could take a hint and while he felt like there was more, something more that could be said or asked, he didn’t want to poke the werewolf. Not when he was taking another hefty pull on the bottle. It wasn’t even likely it would get him that drunk, not unless he worked hard and Derek had a look like he wanted to work hard at it. Nodding Isaac got up, moving away, walking backward with his eyes on Derek until he got to the door. 

\-----------------------------------------------

“So tell me Stiles, what is it you really want?” The Sheriff sat back in his chair, burger ignored, hands crossed over his stomach as he studied his son. 

Stiles was mid bite, fork still in his mouth as he went for his best innocent look when his father asked, looking around like he might be talking to someone else. Finishing his bite and swallowing Stiles shrugged. “I don’t…don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t give me that,” Sheriff Stilinski said shaking his head and waving his hand at his son in a way that said very clearly that he didn’t believe that innocent look no matter how hard Stiles tried to make it look convincing. “This is the third night this week you’ve brought me dinner to work and it’s 7PM on a Friday night your senior year in high school. Why are you here?” 

Stiles opened his mouth to protest but his father cut him off with a look. “Don’t lie to me Stiles. You should be out with Scott at one of those parties I’m not supposed to know about, out with a girl, out with guy, I don’t care. You shouldn’t be here, having dinner with your dad under the pretense of being a good son when you’re really just here to borrow my code for the copier. What did you want earlier this week and what do you want tonight?” 

Stiles opened his mouth yet again but this time found himself slightly speechless. “It was just a case file, a matter of public record,” he started, stabbing his fork into the salad in front of him. 

“An open case or a closed case?” Stiles winced, wishing he was better at lying, better at faking it, but this was his father, policeman extraordinaire and very good at reading liars. Which Stiles was doing a crappier job of than usual at the moment. Hell, he hadn’t even said anything and it gave him away. “What do you want with an open case?” the sheriff asked sounding more than exasperated. 

“I was just curious. And it wasn’t like you were about to share information on your investigation in to the Hale fire. So I was thinking I’d look into things myself,” Stiles said with a hopeful look. 

“I have told you for years not to go poking into that case Stiles.” His father being frustrated with him wasn’t really something new, but this was definitely a step beyond frustrated. It was almost as if his father was completely worn out with having this argument. Again. 

“I know Dad, I know. But get this, there’s not really a good suspect so far in the murders. I mean the best you have is Derek Hale, but he was a kid right? Younger than I am now.” Stiles was on the edge of his seat, watching his father with expectant eyes. 

For a long moment the Sheriff was quiet, watching his son with a look that Stiles had long coined as his ‘cop face’, a look that made him feel very, very small. Just when he was sure his father was going to grab him by the shirt and drag him out of the room, Sheriff Stilinski’s face changed and he ran a hand over his face. “I never liked the kid for it. You’re right he’s young and nothing about him other than his attitude and the fact that he just disappeared the moment we let him go explained anything.” 

“Right!” Stiles said jumping on the conversation and sitting up to pull the file with notes that he’d made out of his bag. “Even if…even with his attitude, it doesn’t seem like something a kid would do. Unless he was a total psychopath and I feel like you would catch on to that when you met him. Being the smart guy that you are.” 

His father rolled his eyes at the blatant compliment, but took the notes that Stiles had made, flipping through them. “I would have noticed, but I also know that kid knew more than he let on. I just couldn’t get him to tell me more.” 

That part Stiles hadn’t seen in his father’s notes and gave him a moment of pause. Did Derek know more? Would he just not tell anyone when his family was murdered? He shook his head a little and poked at the page in front of his father. “Everything about this, everything, it’s so sadistic, locking people in a basement and setting it on fire? That’s ridiculous. That sounds like it needs more than one person to be honest.” 

“Well Derek’s sister did survive the fire as well,” the Sheriff pointed out, watching his son frown. “So while whatever we might think, that Derek and his sister set the fire and later Derek killed her…It fits.” 

That left Stiles with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he slouched down more into the chair as if an anchor had been dropped from his belly button. It did fit. Unconsciously his hand went to his shirt, where Derek had left holes in the fabric of another shirt, just by grabbing him. “It doesn’t feel right…” If he was that mindless of a killer, why didn’t he just kill Stiles? Wandering into his house uninvited was probably reason enough if he’d already escalated to murder right? And yet Stiles was here, unharmed minus a fading bruise here and there and he had more that once blamed the bruises on the stairs, not Derek. 

“What are you thinking?” 

The question jolted Stiles from his reverie and he shook his head. “Nothing. Well, something. That party you’re not supposed to know about? I think I’m going to head there.” Maybe he could do something to get his mind off all of this, go back to being normal like his dad suggested. And for once, he actually knew where the party was. 

The sheriff had on his cop face again, not actually buying the line that Stiles was giving, but they were past the point of accusing one another of lying abut that sort of thing. It was like they assumed that if one was lying, it was for the other’s benefit. Probably not the best for any relationship, but it worked for them. They’d found little things like that, moments where things just worked and they went with it. Stiles wondered sometimes what his mother would think, but he usually pushed those thoughts away quickly. It wasn’t best to dwell on his mother. “Go,” his father said after a moment, waving Stiles away. 

Stiles took the opportunity to dash out of the room as quickly as possible, but sure that he grabbed his own notes off his father’s desk beforehand. 

\-------------------------------------------

Much to his dismay and valiant efforts at both studying it from a distance and trying to immerse himself in the middle of things, partying was still not something Stiles actually excelled at. Standing in the middle of a crowded room with a cup of something alcoholic in his hand he wasn’t at all sure why he’d thought this was a good idea in the first place or even what he was doing here. Lydia was usually a viable excuse, but even she wasn’t distracting enough from the thoughts racing through his head. 

Why was he trying to clear the name of a killer? Just what about Derek had made Stiles decide that he had to help him? It certainly wasn’t the way his eyes had changed color, because that had happened. It wasn’t in Stiles’ head. He wouldn’t let it just be in his head. It was too much of something to just be stuck in his head. 

It wasn’t the whole being tossed in what amounted to a dungeon either. The same basement his own fucking family had burned to death in. No definitely not that. 

Most importantly it was not the way Derek had asked if Stiles wanted to stay the night and the fact that when the older man had started towards him Stiles’ mind had gone off somewhere in left field. Very far left field. Like Derek dragging him off his feet and somewhere else entirely. Somewhere far more fitting for things that weren’t entirely safe for work than the basement. Though he could work with the basement as creepy as that was. Maybe he could get tied up in the basement… 

“Stilinski!” 

A wasted Jackson clamped his hands down hard on his shoulders and Stiles spilled part of his drink on himself as the fantasy of Derek tying him up jerked away from the front of his mind. “You look like you’re thinking about me Stiles,” Jackson murmured, leaning in closer to the thinner man. 

“Keep dreaming Jackson.” Stiles was definitely thinking of something, that much was for sure, but Jackson wasn’t it. 

“Liar,” Jackson said, hooking his fingers in Stiles’ shirt and tugging him through the room. In the back of his mind Stiles was sure he should protest, but it was Jackson. He’d spent a large portion of his life, just doing what Jackson said because it was easier. He never asked for too much anyway, honestly he was a simple guy. Most of the time he just wanted attention. 

“I’m not lying,” Stiles as Jackson pulled him out the back door and into the yard. “You’re not my type Jackson.” Not that he was sure he was Jackson’s type, but the innuendos had been ratcheted up a level in the past few weeks. Maybe something had changed. 

“You’re lying again!” Jackson turned to look at Stiles, best grin in place as he held his arms wide. “I am _everyone’s_ type.” Tilting his head slightly he looked at Stiles expectantly, as if he was waiting on something else. 

“Okay look. I mean yeah, look at you how could you not be…” Stiles trailed off mid ego stroking, eyes on something beyond Jackson. No way, he was seeing things. 

“How could I not be what?” Jackson demanded, not taking his eyes off Stiles as he moved closer. 

Stiles only half heard Jackson, eyes wide, jaw slightly slack as he stared at the man at the edge of the fence. At Derek, who was standing at the gate leading out of the backyard. Derek who was staring back at him, hands in his leather jacket pockets. 

“Stiles,” Jackson demanded again, close enough to get his hands on Stiles’ chest, forcibly dragging his attention back to Jackson. “You were saying?” 

Jackson was close, really close, the kind of close where Stiles could feel the heat coming off him and he was left swallowing a lump in his throat. “I…” He glanced up towards where Derek had been, catching another glimpse of the man, eyes shifting to red, too obvious to miss this time and then Derek was leaving. No, he couldn’t leave. 

Without a thought to what he was doing, Stiles was reaching for Jackson’s hands, untangling himself from his teammate and ducking out of the way. “I have to…yeah.” Stiles ignored the shocked look on Jackson’s face then dashed out the back gate, hoping to catch Derek. 

There was Derek, still in the distance, and Stiles started that way calling out to him. He wasn’t imagining it this time. It was actually happening. Derek even seemed to hear him, which had Stiles picking up his pace until Derek, Derek of the leather jacket, let out an actual howl. Head dropped back towards the sky and howl. And it wasn’t a pretty noise. More like the kind that sent fear coursing through Stiles’ entire self as he stumbled backwards a few steps, breath caught in his throat. That noise couldn’t have come from Derek. No way. It was just a wolf. Except there weren’t wolves in California. There hadn’t been in ages. 

Derek turned to look at him again, eyes red even from far away and Stiles didn’t even know where to start. What was he? Something…something not normal at all. When Derek turned away he broke into a run, taking off into the woods, it left Stiles rooted to the ground where he stood, shaking from fear he didn’t want to be feeling.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles didn’t sleep the rest of the weekend. He’d blatantly ignored Jackson’s texts, which started as threats for blowing him off at the party and by Sunday turned into the normal fake flirtations that Jackson usually stuck with. It wasn’t that he was that upset with Jackson, honestly Stiles didn’t really care one way or another. Eventually Jackson would get bored and he’d find something else to entertain himself with, something that wasn’t Stiles. 

No the real problem was the stack of library books and computer printouts that covered Stiles’ desk and bed. Pages upon pages of research, of things he was sure of, of things that he wasn’t sure he believed in yet. There was a list; a list that kept getting bigger and all the questions had one very terrifying answer. 

It wasn’t enough to keep him away though, and Stiles found himself driving his Jeep towards the old Hale house, sitting outside for a long few minutes as he tried to get his breathing under control. This was stupid. This was really stupid, especially if Derek _was_ both a monster and a murderer, but something in Stiles was drawing him here, like he was supposed to be here. And just the thought of something so cliché and stupid had him pressing his head against his steering wheel, willing the thoughts of fate and destiny away, but it was too late. No, that was firmly rooted in his mind like he was some sort of lovesick teenager, which he supposed, given that eighteen was still ‘teenager’ he might actually be. 

Or he was suffering from amazing Stockholm Syndrome and he’d enjoyed being locked in that basement dungeon and then he was really worried about himself. That sent more of his thoughts spiraling out of control and eventually he had to wrench himself out of the Jeep because the massive failure of mental pep talks was going to make him question his entire existence rather than get him to the door. 

Just like before he was taking a shaking breath and forcing himself inside the house. This time though, Derek was standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. Stiles swallowed hard and licked his lips, trying to find his voice, but for once it had completely left him. 

“What do you want Stiles?” Derek wound up asking, clearly annoyed. 

Stiles couldn’t stand still, not with Derek staring at him like that, which meant he was shrugging his shoulders and running a hand over his head, anything to not look at Derek. “I…I want to know the truth. Did you kill them?” 

Derek’s head tilted slightly in a surprisingly dog-like manner, as he studied the younger man, the fidget, the nerves, and the slight lingering scent of fear. “Do you think I did?” 

Stiles continued to fidget, scuffing his toe along a torn up rug and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t know what to think.” Because even now he was thinking of something else, something that clearly did not belong in the room with them. He could feel his cheeks start to pink at the idea, at the prospect of Derek there, close, close enough to smell, just like now. Yanking his hands away from his eyes, Stiles found himself face to face with Derek, and when he tried to stagger backwards, Derek grabbed his wrists, not letting him move. 

“Why are you here?” 

Stiles’ mouth was open, staring at the hold that Derek had on him which left his heart pounding against his chest as if it might manage to escape from his ribcage. “I…I’m not afraid of you.” No, definitely not afraid. That wasn’t fear he was feeling; it was something else entirely. 

Derek smelled it before Stiles said something, probably before Stiles figured it out himself. Pushing Stiles’ hands away from him, Derek turned his back to Stiles, intent on starting away, but not getting more than a step or two away. “You should leave. Now.” 

“Derek no,” Stiles protested, stepping forward, one hand out to grab at Derek’s shoulder, but Derek shook the touch off with a jerk. 

“Go Stiles. Go.” 

Stiles felt everything in him sink to his shoes when Derek pulled away from him. Never had he wanted something as badly as he wanted to touch Derek now, to be close to him and the werewolf, because that was what he was. There was no other explanation that worked. “I don’t want to,” he said, hating the sound of pleading in his voice, but that was what this was, plea to stay, to try, all too reminiscent of the first night. 

Derek winced when he heard Stiles’ voice, shaking his head. “I can’t. You…you don’t know what I am. I’m a monster. No one wants a monster.” No one could love a monster. That was the root of the problem. With his family gone it was as if Derek had been cursed with loneliness, a type of loneliness there was no recovering from, no magic spell that could break it. 

“I do though,” Stiles said, hands finding Derek again, and while the man flinched hard, this time he didn’t pull away. “I do.” 

Derek felt an arm slip around his waist, something so painfully human, but with a lean strength behind it. Nothing like his own, but Stiles wasn’t a twig. He was something more than that. Turning in the arm he felt a growl rise up in him, something less angry and more needy than he would have liked. One hand found its way to the back of Stiles’ neck, drawing him in closer as the need and the loneliness, brought out his wolf features, fangs bared, eyes red. “You should be afraid of me,” Derek reminded him, voice a gruff growl, and accompanied by him squeezing that vulnerable back of Stiles’ neck a little harder. Just a slight bit more pressure and he could snap it. That would be all it took.

The pain brought out a soft gasp from Stiles but he held his ground, hand fisting Derek’s shirt as he shook his head, so close to Derek’s height. “I’m pretty shit at actually doing what I should do. You can ask just about anyone. My teachers hate me, my dad is sure that if he wasn’t a cop I would have been arrested for attitude alone by now and my friends have given up hope.” And right now, this was exactly where he wanted to be, chest close to a growling werewolf. He really was stupid, but if he was going out like this? Darwin be damned. 

Derek’s hand flexed against his neck again and then reason took over. Pulling away he was no longer part wolf, but completely human again, piercing eyes shining but no longer red. “You need to go. Or I’ll hurt you.” 

Stiles stayed where he was, not letting Derek get too far because he refused to let go of his shirt. “What kind of hurt? My pain tolerance would amaze you,” he said shamelessly aware that he’d found himself at the point of saying whatever he might need to say to convince Derek to let him stay.

“Stiles,” Derek protested, something less forceful this time, but almost pleading himself. He needed Stiles to understand. “I can’t. I…” He gave up on words and moved close again, taking Stiles’ face in both his hands, watching golden eyes as they went wider. “I can’t. And you shouldn’t.” 

Stiles was still protesting, still shaking his head as best he could with the hold he was in when Derek kissed him. He wasn’t expecting it, despite the close proximity of the broader man. Maybe because he wouldn’t let himself believe it could ever happen. But then it was happening and Stiles was struggling against the hold Derek had on him to get closer, answering the kiss with a needy eagerness he didn’t even realize he had. 

Derek drew the kiss out, holding Stiles just far enough away so that when he pulled back there was actual space between them. It took him prying, but he managed to get out of the last bit of grip that Stiles had on him and nodded towards the door. “Go. Now. Don’t come back.” 

It hurt to say it, to throw away the one person that could possibly save him, but what else could Derek do? There were no promises that the young man could fix things, could actually save him, and keeping Stiles would just run the risk of hurting Stiles more. He was human, far more mortal than he was. No, Derek couldn’t keep him on the hope that something more might come of it, that Stiles meant what he said about being able to see past the monster. Moving away before Stiles could react, he left the younger boy slack jawed in the foyer, heading out the back and deep into the woods. He’d run tonight, until he forgot that moment completely. 

\----------------------

“What is this Stilinski?” 

Stiles had let his guard down for a rare moment and there was Jackson, the rest of the first line on his heels, dropping to sit next to Stiles and yank the file about Derek he had in front of him away. “Derek Hale?” Jackson asked, shifting closer, invading Stiles’ personal space. While Stiles was sitting like a normal human would at the picnic table outside their school, Jackson, forever with the innuendo was straddling it, giving him all the more space to invade. “What do you want with Derek? You don’t have to go back there you know? We mostly believed your story about him locking you in the basement.” 

The group around them laughed, though more like it was on command than any actual humor. “Give it back Jackson,” Stiles said reaching out a hand that Jackson swatted away before using it as an excuse to move closer still, his hand along Stiles’ back as he read the papers in front of him. 

“Even you have to admit Stiles, this obsession is a little odd. He’s a murderer. A monster.” Jackson cut his eyes at Stiles who jerked away from his touch and tried to take his things back. Jackson didn’t realize what he was saying, not with the monster part. He didn’t know what actually lurked beneath the surface of Derek and that he’d just toss the word around was too much for Stiles. 

“I couldn’t care less what you think Jackson. But if it’s going to be such an issue, maybe you shouldn’t be seen with me. So you can leave. Now.” Stiles was hoping it would work, but Jackson flipped the page and was looking at something else entirely, frown creasing his perfect face. 

“Stiles…what is this?” 

It was a chart, a breakdown of everything about Derek, about what he’d seen, what he’d heard, what he’d researched. It was done in about as neat as Stiles’ handwriting got, little lines drawn connecting boxes and dots. The murders, both his family and his sister, the fire, the werewolf part, all of it was there, perfectly diagramed that an idiot could plainly see exactly where Stiles’ mind was in the whole thing: squarely on the side of Derek’s innocence despite his monster-laden past and present. 

“It’s nothing,” Stiles said, managing to jerk it away even if part of the page ripped off in Jackson’s hand. Grabbing his things, Stiles moved away as quickly as he could, leaving Jackson staring at his retreating form then back down at the piece of paper in his hand. Clearly written across it was werewolf, with a little caricature of a wolf doodled there. 

“What is it Jackson?” Danny asked, moving to sit across from his friend. 

Jackson made a face. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said, putting the piece of paper down in front of Danny. “You figure there’s a bounty out for Derek Hale? To bring him to justice?” 

Danny shrugged. “Can’t see why not. He is a murderer. News said a few weeks ago there was a warrant out for his arrest.” 

Jackson nodded then grabbed the piece of paper again, crumpling it in one hand. “Good.” 

 

\-----------------------

 

There was always something to be said for the level of moronic that only jocks were capable of reaching. 

**We’re going to teach Derek Hale a lesson. Meet at the house at 8.**

Stiles had been staring at the ripped page of his notes, not really able to focus on anything other than the lingering memory of Jackson’s hand on his back, the way he leaned in closer when he talked to him. Maybe Stiles was wrong. The kiss from Derek, as poignant as it had been at the time, felt more like a dream, like something he’d imagined that was fleeting away from him. Maybe he’d imagined all of it. Maybe he should be focusing on what was there, in front of him, and how it really wasn’t something to turn his nose up at. Jackson was the prize half the school was gunning for and he was determined to get Stiles. It was almost an honor and at the very least one hell of a compliment. The text message was a saving grace, a distraction from his own warring thoughts; at least it was until he picked up the phone. 

What the fresh hell was this? It was from one of the denser first liners, probably without the brain capacity that it shouldn’t be forwarded on to Stiles who read it three times before jolting out of his chair. There was no way Jackson would actually do this. That he’d go into the woods to take on a damn werewolf, all in some attempts to prove something. 

As Stiles started up the Jeep he realized just how wrong he was. Of course Jackson would do something that like. It was as if Jackson was hardwired for just that sort of thing. 

7:48

The display on the aftermarket stereo he’d put in the jeep was two minutes fast, but he was pretty sure he needed twenty minutes to get to the house. At least if he got pulled over they’d know who he was. There was a squeal of tires and then Stiles was speeding to catch the team before they got there. 

 

\----------------------------

“I’m almost surprised they don’t have pitchforks,” Erica mumbled as the crowed of boys moved into view, flashlights cutting through the dark. They’d heard their voices long before they could see them, and the whole house knew exactly what they wanted. 

“Who gives a shit?” 

Derek’s voice was behind them, gruff like it hadn’t been used in days, which it hadn’t. He’d been silent since he got back from the run, since the smell of Christmas had lingered in the foyer of the house. His cubs jerked around, staring at him. 

“We should do something. At this rate they’ll burn the house down again,” Isaac pleaded, though he wasn’t exactly sure what Derek could do. Maybe scare the shit out of them so they’d stay away for good. 

Instead, Derek shrugged one shoulder. “Let them have at it. The last time only got half of it. Might as well take down what’s left.” He left the room and it was a moment before the others stumbled after him. 

“That’s it? You’re just going to let them threaten you? You’re innocent. We know that. You can tell them that.” Erica’s voice was higher in pitch, fear slipping into the words, but she wasn’t afraid for herself, she was afraid for Derek. The way he was talking sounded like he was ready to get caught up in the flame himself. 

“Derek we should go,” Isaac added, concern in his voice. 

“Then go. I don’t expect you to stay.” He certainly didn’t expect them to risk their lives for him. Who would do such a thing? 

“Derek,” Erica started, reaching out for him, but still an arm’s length away. “We won’t… you could die.” 

When he jerked around to snarl at her, it wasn’t the man, but the beast, eyes red, fangs barred. “Go. Leave me be.” 

She jerked her hand back with a panicked stare, clutching her hand against her chest in fear. He was rough with them, but this was something different, something far harsher than she’d seen before. He was Alpha, and his orders weren’t coming from being their leader, but from the part of them that was hardwired to do whatever he said. It wasn’t a request or a strongly worded suggestion. It would hurt more to go against it, and Derek knew that. “Derek,” she tried again, but Boyd had her, pulling her away as Derek turned his back on them again. 

“Let them come.” 

It was the last thing she heard before the crash of the intruders. They were taking axes to the walls, yelling out to Derek. She wanted to go back to protect him, but Boyd had both her and Isaac, pulling them away. “It’s time to go,” he demanded. Her feet fought him until they hit the soft ground out behind the house and then she joined the others, after one last fleeting glance towards the burned out wall where Derek stood waiting, inviting death. 

 

\-------------------------

 

Yelling for him to come out was getting them nowhere. Jackson watched as his first line took axes and sledgehammers to the house, trying to draw out the monster with no such luck. “We’ll tear it down right from underneath you!” he shouted into the megaphone he’d borrowed from school, voice crackling and popping as it was amplified into the night. 

No answer. 

Danny looked at Jackson, one eyebrow arched in a skeptical expression. “What if he’s not there?” 

Jackson gave Danny a dirty look. “He’s there. I can feel it.” And he could. That extra bit of weight in the air, as if Derek had his own gravitational field that was tugging at Jackson’s stomach. “Fine,” he said into the megaphone, hating that the distortion didn’t properly express the sarcasm in his voice. “Have it your way.” 

Pulling the megaphone away he looked at the faces that had turned to him, shocked that he’d stop, that Jackson Whittmore, would just give in so easily. He looked at them, annoyed at their blank faces, their doubt. “Burn it down,” he told them, like talking to moronic children. There was a moment of hesitation before they whooped, going back for the gasoline and matches they’d brought, making quick work of setting the fire. 

Gravel crunched under the wheels of his Jeep as Stiles drew closer, but just as he leapt from the driver’s side to stop them, the spark hit the gasoline and the base of the house was engulfed in flames. Stiles was blown back by the heat, tripping as he grabbed Jackson’s shirt, trying to hold himself up, trying not to panic as he gaped, open mouth at the house. “What are you doing?” he tried to demand but the words were too choked, too strained. 

“Smoking him out,” Jackson said, making a face as he tried to catch the stumbling Stiles. “He’ll come out.” He sounded so sure, so determined that it made Stiles sick to his stomach. 

“What if he doesn’t?” This time Stiles’ voice was higher pitched, shoving at Jackson’s arms, his touch, hard. “What if you just killed him? What the fuck is wrong with you?” The flames were rising, making the area around the house hot despite the cool air. Stiles was sure he was starting to sweat, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the fire or from the panic with every moment that passed and Derek didn’t emerge. 

“He won’t die. He’ll come out.” Jackson’s sure face changed when something cracked, part of the house succumbing to the flames and starting to crumble in a mass of sparks and flames. 

This wasn’t happening. Jackson wasn’t actually burning Derek alive. Shoving at Jackson’s hands, despite the fact that Jackson seemed to read his mind and was trying to hold him back, he surged forward. To get out of his grip Stiles had to ditch his hoodie, flailing out of the arms and rushing towards the burning house. 

Flames licked up as he headed onto the rickety porch but when it died out again he was jumping over it and through the front door. Smoke filled the house, making it hard to see, hard to do more than cough as his eyes stung, tears not helping to rid the soot already there. “Derek!” It was coughed, trying to find the werewolf. “Derek!” 

He ran into another room, stumbling back as flames surged closer than he expected, feeling burns on his skin as he jerked back a now bare arm. No, not in here, not anywhere he could see at least. That didn’t stop Stiles from moving farther into the room, yelling again. Something else popped and cracked and then the floor shook as a portion of the ceiling fell, just inches from where Stiles stood. He coughed more; feeling like his lungs weren’t actually taking in air, just solid soot and flames. “Derek!” 

Derek heard the voice the first time, but thought he imagined it. The second time it was still half a dream from where Derek sat, feeling the floor heat up under him, the smoke rising around him clogging his breaths even if he hadn’t started choking yet. He could feel his lungs fighting it, his body trying to repair the damage as it happened. They must have suffered, waiting for the actual flames to take them, bodies trying to heal themselves, prolonging death. 

He deserved this. 

The third time, the voice came after a crash, the floor in the room falling out from behind him, making him jolt out of the chair, looking at the burning hole in the middle of the room. He might have been ready for death, but he wasn’t ready for Stiles’ death. Hearing the voice a third time, definitely not in his own imagination had him springing into action. 

Stiles was still trying to yell, but between coughs his voice was raspy, like gravel down his burned throat, tears from the smoke streaming down his face. There was a strong chance he was going to die in here. Trying to side step the burning pieces of ceiling he felt his pants get singed, enough to hit the skin, burning it as well, but the hiss of pain was too hard to choke out. “Derek!” 

This time the word was croaked, burning more than just breathing, which was already miserable. He stumbled as he tired to get through the burning room and fell to his knees as he coughed hard. This was why he wasn’t the hero. The hero didn’t die in an abandoned building. No he got the guy out and everyone was impressed. Again, he made a stupid choice, thinking he could do a lot more than he did. Just as he started to resign himself to Darwin’s theories that had been haunting him for days and agreeing that yes, he did deserve this, someone had him around the waist and was dragging him out of the house. 

The blast of freezing clean air was shocking, leaving him choking on the one thing he needed desperately. It was freezing out here. Why was it freezing outside and so warm inside? Stiles’ vision swam around him, legs aching, hurting, searing pain in places he didn’t realize he could feel pain and for a moment nothing existed. 

And then there was Jackson, screaming something, what? Derek…

“No!” Stiles was lunging at Jackson, not entirely sure why nor doing much as he made contact. It felt hard, like hitting a wall of bricks. Distantly Stiles’ mind registered that Jackson would love hearing that, that his abs were like bricks. Fuck first line and a date for prom, Jackson Whittmore, captain of the lacrosse team, wanted in his pants. And the werewolf had kissed him. It was like something out of a bad movie eighties movie. Just as Stiles started to laugh about it, sure that Danny or Scott would join in the world went black. 

 

\-----------------

 

Stiles jolted from the dream, arms flailing but not really getting anywhere, body not responding to the movements he was trying to make. Like he was swimming jello. But who would swim in jello? Could you swim in jello? Better question, can you drown in jello?

“Why are you talking about Jello?” The voice was gruff, obviously thick with sleep, frustration, and an all too familiar growl. 

Stiles swung his head in that direction, not quite able to turn over properly, not with his arm attached to something…to an IV. “Where am I?” he demanded, panic starting to rise into his voice. And he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. The panic faded the moment a warm hand rested against his cheek, soothing him in a way he couldn’t really explain. 

His eyes darted towards the hand, breath evening out at the sight looming over him. “You’re here.” 

“Been here the whole time,” Derek said, sitting at the edge of the bed, hand still running over Stiles’ head, calming him, almost petting like one might an animal. Which was probably why Derek was doing it, he was half wolf after all. “After you stupidly tried to save my life and almost lost your own.”

Stiles’ grinned even if it was lopsided and a little too toothy, leaning into the touch, not wanting it to stop. “Never said I was good at being hero.” 

“I am definitely confirming that you are terrible at it.” Derek stared at him, eyes hard to read, steely with something. In the back of his mind Stiles wondered if he should be afraid. He could barely moved, limbs like lead from whatever what in IV bag attached to his arm, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Not with Derek. 

He should have flinched when Derek’s hand moved to his cheek, thumb tracing the bones that was were starting to show as the last of his baby fat was lost to age and an ever growing body, but he didn’t.

“Thank you.” 

Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of it, hell he wasn’t even sure he’d heard it. Maybe he’d just dreamed it. Just like he was sure he dreamt everything that was rooted in Derek. “For what?” His voice was quiet, worried that Derek would take it back, that he hadn’t said it. 

“For saving me.” A smiled tugged at the sides of Derek’s lips, thumb dragging across Stiles’ cheek again. 

“I thought you said it was stupid,” Stiles said, not able to stop the flow of words even if Derek Hale, terrifying and perfect, was saying nice things about him. Maybe he had died and this was the afterlife. A perfect sort of heaven that smelled like antiseptic and his body ached, but almost in a detached way that only painkillers could provide. “Am I dead?” 

“It was stupid, very stupid, and no you aren’t dead. I considered killing you myself afterwards, but decided against it at the last moment.” Derek was still fighting that smile, even if something was starting to show in his eyes. “That’s not how you saved me though. Yes I was probably going to burn up in that house, but it was more than that.” He was silent for a moment longer, eyes ticking to the machines that Stiles was hooked up to, monitoring everything. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to go on, I didn’t have a good reason. Then moment you needed me though, I found one. I didn’t believe you, when you said you could love the monster too. I was wrong. I should have listened.” 

It was a lot to put on a person and Stiles could see that Derek knew that. It was probably why he wasn’t looking at him, but Stiles didn’t want that. Finding some control over himself he managed to get his fingers in Derek’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Good.” 

“Good?” Derek asked, eyes finding golden ones again, letting himself get pulled closer but slowly. 

Stiles nodded. “Yup. Because I wasn’t going to let you get off the hook that easily. You do owe me.” He grinned a little. “Usually the damsel in distress gives the hero a kiss for his efforts.” 

Derek gave him a skeptical look, not believing that for an instant. “I thought we said you were a terrible hero. I doubt you’ve earned a kiss since I did all the physical labor.” 

That just made Stiles laugh more, even if it was almost slurred from the drugs. “Then fine. I’ll be the damsel. Either way I’m kissing you.” He pulled Derek closer, realizing that the wolf was letting himself be pulled and letting himself be kissed, but Stiles was fine with that. That was what he wanted, Derek there, kissing him back, who cared if it was Derek doing all the work? 

When the kiss broke off Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s shirt, keeping him close. “You won’t leave right?” he asked, eyes falling closed as sleep tried to take over again. 

Hands closed around his fist, pulling his fingers from Derek’s shirt but keeping closed around his hand. “Right. I’m sticking around,” he heard Derek say. “Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Stiles nodded and let sleep take him, hand curled around Derek’s. 


End file.
